


Of Hangar Doors and Sith Lords

by Ohrwurm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Guides Verse
Genre: Alcohol solves everything, Darth Vader in rage, M/M, Not beta-read we die like men, Other, imperial officers being bros, no starships were harmed in the making of this drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28380933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohrwurm/pseuds/Ohrwurm
Summary: A Sith Lord's rage is spectacular and quite terrifiying, even if you've just returned and missed out on half the fun.Veers can't decide whether to be annoyed or impressed. Piett has a headache. The crew of the Executor just wants to live in peace and not be chopped down into bits, thank you very much.Time for some well needed catching-up.
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Maximilian Veers, Firmus Piett/Maximilian Veers, if you squint
Comments: 17
Kudos: 450
Collections: Star Wars





	Of Hangar Doors and Sith Lords

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How To Design Your Own Prosthesis And Turn The Project Into A Bonding Experience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28174143) by [Jackdaw_Kraai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw_Kraai/pseuds/Jackdaw_Kraai). 



> This work is set after the events of Chapter Three. (After Vader destroyed half of the Executor to get to injured Luke.)  
> You don't have to read "The Guides Verse" to understand this fic, but I certainly recommend to do so!
> 
> And, as always, all spelling/grammatical errors in this fic are mine, mine and mine alone.

After Veers had returned to the Executor, he’d at once noticed that something was off. Apart from the debris, metallic dust, durasteel pieces and cursing engineers everywhere, he had caught sight of more than one group of crewmates stumbling about in a more than jittery manner. Not to mention the sudden suspicious amount of free space in the hangar that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there.

Which was the exact reason he had immediately decided to seek out Piett.

Currently, Veers was entering the Lady’s Officers Lounge and silently congratulating himself.  
Easy to spot, the distinctly Captain-like figure of Firmus Piett was sitting at a table in the right corner of the lounge, looking utterly exhausted, head in his hands.

Veers made a beeline to the lounge bar and – after ordering two glasses of the strongest Ithorian rum drinkable – sat down at Piett’s table, sliding one of the drinks to the smaller navy man. “Captain.”  


Bleary, long-suffering eyes greeted him. "General."

Veers watched as Firmus Piett, Officer of the Navy, Captain of the Lady Executor and third in command of Imperial Death Squadron, reached with a shaking hand for his drink and downed its content in one go. 

“Firmus.”  
The navy man only shuddered.

“Firmus”, he tried again. “Why are the hangar doors _missing_?” 

Piett made a small sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob, burring his head in his hands again. After two deep breaths, Veers could make out a muffled “Lord Vader”.  


The general blinked. "What do you mean, Vader?"

Lowering his hands to clutch the table like a lifeline, Piett stared at him with slight madness in his eyes. Then, after taking a moment to visibly compose himself, Piett’s business-like demeanour took over and the captain seemed more like his usual self again. If you didn’t count the slight tremor in his frame. “Well”, the smaller navy man muttered, turning the now empty glass over in his hand, “Lord Vader decided that the hangar doors were too much of an inconvenience, so he took it upon himself to _remove_ them.” _He kriffing destroyed them_ , went unspoken.

Now it was Veers’ turn to stare. “He removed them.”  
“Yes.”  
“The hangar doors.”  
“Yes.”  
“ _The fifty-meter tall, durasteel made grand hangar doors._ ”  
“Yes, Max.”

Veers blinked again, then shook himself out of his stupor and threw back his drink. The Grand Gates. Fifty meters of solid durasteel. Indestructible. But utterly destroyed. _Stars help us._

The general slowly shook his head. “I’ve heard some rumours of the rampage on my way here.” His eyes were suddenly far too alive for Piett’s liking. “My, if this isn’t a story to be told by the finest captain of the Lady, I’ll eat my hat.”

Piett eyed the man wearily. “I’m the only official captain of the Lady, Max.”  
“Exactly!” Veers flashed him his best shit-eating grin.

Piett sighed deeply. Then, he took a long look at his empty glass, before glancing over to where the bartender droid was currently mixing new drinks.  
“Fine. But _you_ are going to pay.”


End file.
